Today
was a public holiday in Spain – The Day of the Constitution,
I think – and, as I drove into town this morning, a thought
occurred to me once again – there's nothing deader than a Spanish
city on a día festivo. In summer, of course, many residents
go to the beaches but what happens in winter? Do they stay in bed all
day? Or sit huddled in front of the TV? I have no idea but one
thing's for sure – they're not to be seen on the streets.
I've
mentioned once or twice over the years that the Spanish have a
ghoulish interest in gore. So I wasn't too surprised last night to
glimpse an ad for a TV program which seems to be a rundown of the top
25 bloodiest fotos ever taken. I didn't catch the name but my
impression was it stems from the Spanish word for a
slaughter/ massacre – matanza. But I could be wrong.
There
was something else pretty odd on the box last night. Fifteen minutes
into a serious roundtable political discussion, the chairman suddenly
looked into a different camera and provided the voiceover for an ad
for a coin collection. Sometimes I just can't believe what I'm seeing
in this country. Though God knows I should be beyond surprising by
now.
There's
a bit of a stink over the government's proposal that the work of
Civil Registrars - birth, death and marriage registrations
essentially - be passed to the Property Registrars. Cynics have noted
that – with the property market gasping for breath – the Property
Registrars now make nothing like the (windfall) income they did
through the boom years. And that the President, Sr Rajoy, is a
Property Registrar himself. As are all his three siblings. But I
can't comment. Surely such an obvious abuse of power couldn't happen
in a modern democracy.
Talking
of stinks . . . I've mentioned the arrest of the chap – Gerardo Día
Forrán – who used to run the now defunct Marsans Group. He and two
colleagues have now been told how much they have to put up to be
released on bail – 50 million, 30 million and 30 million.
Interestingly Forrán is one of the 30 million boys. But, anyway,
none of them appears to be regarded as trustworthy. Can't think why.
Prompted
by an ad, I've been looking at car names. Some of them are decidedly
silly. Here's a short list:
Opel
Aca
Dacia
Duster
Mini
Rocketman
VW
Upi
VW
Forstars
VW
Tiguan
Renault
Twizy
Ford
Kuga – presumably for women in their 40s
Lamborghini
Urus
Whenever
I think of car names, I'm reminded of the huge gaffe made by no less
a company than Rolls Royce when they launched the Silver Mist.
Unaware, apparently, that mist means dung/shit
in German.
Finally
. . . My daughters get rather upset at my (allegedly noisy) practice
of aerating wines in my mouth before swallowing. So they've been
thrilled to be told I can buy an aerator that does it all for me, when
held over the glass. Before the wine is poured in, of course. Not
after. It's not magic.
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